


Running Interference

by lea_hazel



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Fix-It of Sorts, Imperial Legion (Elder Scrolls), Loyalty, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Regret, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Kink Meme, loss of friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25665211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: As an Imperial Legionnaire in Skyrim, Cassius faces an impossible choice. He's not willing to risk losing a friend, so he opts to take a third option. With mixed results.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ralof
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Running Interference

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen fix-it fics of DBs choosing a side in the civil war, and trying to somehow preserve their friendships with the opposing side, or convert their allies to their cause. I wanted to do my own spin on this trope, where things don't turn out quite so peachy.

He asked to meet him east of the city. By courier, no less, a man dashing up to him and insisting to deliver to his hands only. Of course he agreed. They were comrades in arms, weren't they? That they hadn't seen each other in months, after having only known each other for most of a day, didn't seem relevant. Surviving a dragon attack together did that to you, instant camaraderie and all.

Of course he went. Why he chose to meet at an old ruined tower, he couldn't guess. But sure enough, he was there, kneeling in the snow next to a bear carcass, laboring to skin it. Absorbed in his work, he didn't even look up at his approach.

Ralof cleared his throat. "Greetings, friend."

"Yes," he said, "I heard you coming. Come help me with this pelt."

Luckily he never went anywhere without his skinning knife.

"How have you been keeping?" he said.

"Is that why you wanted to meet up here?" asked Ralof. "To ask after my health? We could have done that at Candlehearth in front of the fire with a bottle of ale."

Cas laughed self-consciously. "Yes," he said, "of course, you're right."

No doubt he meant to say, _I'm glad you didn't die in the war, yet_ , or something along those lines.

Ralof cleared his throat again. "Cas--"

"I suppose you've heard the rumors," Cas blurted out. "About me," he added.

"Are they true?" asked Ralof. "Are you..."

"Dragonborn?" he said with a sigh. "Alas, that part is definitely true. I really think they could have picked someone better suited."

"Cas--"

"I know! I know!" he said, throwing up his hands. "Nord folk hero. Probably ought to _actually be a Nord_. I'm not any happier about it than you are, but you can't argue with destiny."

He frowned. "Why would you say that? Is that what you think I think?"

Cas waved a hand abstractly. "Plural you."

He hesitated then, but he had to ask. "Is that why you didn't come and join the Stormcloaks?"

"Ralof--"

"We could use more good men, like you. It's not too late! Come with me back to Windhelm and we'll--"

"Ralof." It was a tone which brooked no dissent. It would have served him well, as a Stormcloak officer. "Skyrim belongs to the Nords, remember?"

"No everyone thinks like that!" he objected heatedly.

Cas shrugged. "Might as well recruit a high elf. I know you don't want it to be, but it's true. Can we-- could we just talk about something else? Something more pleasant?"

_I've been thinking about you_ , he could have said, but didn't. They could have been comrades at arms, again.

After a long silence, Cas said, "Help me stretch this out to dry. It's too heavy for me alone."

Work dispelled the awkwardness a little. Doing was better than talking.

"We shouldn't stay out here too long," said Ralof finally.

"I thought the cold didn't affect you," said Cas.

"It will start growing dark, soon. A good time to be inside the city walls. Although you can obviously handle yourself, if you took down two bears alone."

Cas grimaced. "It was a near thing. Look, I lit a fire inside the tower. We can sit there awhile. It's not Candlehearth, I know, but..."

"Of course!" said Ralof. "You wanted to catch up. That's why I came here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Cas. "Yeah."

They sat and drank by the campfire and Ralof racked his mind for some way to say the things he needed to say. Outside the light was starting to fail, and the walk back to the city was not a short one. They had polished off half a bottle and he, at least, was drunker than he was willing to admit. If he didn't act soon he would back out, or else blurt out something stupid and ruin everything. So he did the only thing he could think of and leaned over to kiss him.

When he pulled back, he saw Cas's eyes were still closed, his lashes fluttering.

"You're drunk," he said.

"I'm not that drunk," said Ralof, although it was dangerously close to a lie. "Did you not--"

"I liked it," he said. "Close your eyes."

"Cassius--"

"Please."

He couldn't bring himself to say no.

Cas's kiss was much better than his own. Probably he was less drunk, or maybe he had spent the past season kissing anyone who wanted to kiss the Dragonborn. Which was everyone. It was soft and deep at the same time and it sent a tingle down his spine. He felt Cas's hand reach under his cuirass effortlessly and slide up his back. Then he felt a sharp bite near his spine.

He wanted to say something, but he couldn't even move his head. He slid down to the ground, hopelessly immobilized. Cassius detached from him and rose to his knees. He watched him for a moment, stunned. Before his eyes Cas rose to his feet and turned towards the deepening shadows behind him.

"As promised, he's paralyzed and should be easy to transport," he said to a near-invisible figure in the shadows.

"Where should I take him?" asked the unseen stranger.

Cassius's eyes flicked towards him and met his briefly, before looking away. "Far from Windhelm. Out of Eastmarch altogether, in fact."

"Right," said the stranger.

"Remember," said Cassius, leaning forward, scowling, "you hold him, not hurt him. Something happens, he gets hurt--"

"--I'll regret the day I was born," said the other. "Yes, I remember. I suppose if you'd wanted him harmed, you'd have performed the Black Sacrament."

"Your _organization_ ," said Cassius, "has a reputation for avoiding violence. One I expect you to live up to."

"How long do I hold him?"

"Two weeks," said Cassius crisply.

The man detached from the shadows around him, but his face was still hidden to Ralof. He moved to approach him from the back and Ralof could feel himself getting bound, although he still couldn't move. All the while Cassius was watching impassively, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He felt himself being hauled back up to a sitting position, and anticipated a very humiliating episode of being carried over someone's shoulder.

For a moment, the man behind him paused in his work.

"Why two weeks?" he asked.

Cassius tilted his head, a silent question.

"Why do you need us to keep him for two weeks, I meant. That's very specific."

His eyes narrowed. "Because that's how long it's going to take me to end this war."

"...Right."

"Are your instructions quite clear enough?" he asked.

"No problem. The Guild will handle it for you."

"If you don't mind," said Cassius grimly, hefting a satchel over his back, "I'm expected in Whiterun by morning and it's a very long ride."

"He's never going to forgive you, you know."

Cassius stopped stock still in the empty, darkening doorway and cast back a scathing look. "Mind your own business, Brynjolf."


End file.
